How They Began
by That Beautifully Strange Moon
Summary: In the books, Suzanne Collins says that the Hunger Games started as a punishment for a lost rebellion...This is the story of that rebellion, centered around the people who were most important to it. Rated T, partially because K is lame, but also because it's the Hunger Games, people! Besides, in the course of fighting evil, people have a tendency to get hurt and die. Epic-ally.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: Okay, this is my first story, so if I did something wrong just let me know... and I apoligise in advance! This story is how the Hunger Games came to be. In the books, it says that the Hunger Games were started as punishment for a rebellion...this is the story of that rebellion and how it came to be.**

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The revolution hadn't gone well. In the stories, there's always this very brave and courageous group of people, and when they rebel - against all odds - people start ignoring them, mainly because they're afraid to be exicuted if caught in contact with the tratiourious people. The people that the current leader makes out to be monsters that are tring to kill your children and take away your lifestlye. But in the end, the little brave group that fought for what they believed in always wins. Maybe I should blame the loss of life and revolution on the people who told us those delusional stories to give us courage. I won't though; it was actually all my fault. Well, wait. Maybe I should start from the begining.

At first, it was a typical day. I woke up at 3 a.m., got dressed in the government-regulation-uniform. The clothes that I have to wear are mostly the same colour. Light gray button-up long-sleeved blouse, slightly darker long gray jeans with a white belt, white socks, white canvas shoes, and a ribbion, slightly darker than the jeans, to tie my regulation-hair back with. The hair that I have to have is blonde and very straight. It has to be parted in a perfectly straight line, right down the center of my hair, and symetrical on both sides, and it has to be exactly long enough to reach my waist. No, calling the government a bunch of control-freaks wouldn't be an over-estament. In fact, it would be an under-estament. The ribbion isn't really regulation, though. We – the girls – are allowed one accessory to our outfits. And the accessory has to be government-approved. And once we pick one out, that's what we're stuck with till the day we die. And, we have to wear it everyday. I managed to talk them into letting me have a ribbion for my hair. But since I choose that my accessory is a ribbion, they got to pick it out. It's so bland. But I shouldn't be complaining. At least I get a little something to add, even if it sucks.

So anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, getting dressed. So I had just gotten up, and gotten dressed. I was now sitting in my spot and thinking. We each have a spot on the floor, with a sleeping bag, pillow, and red duct tape marking the border and glass walls enforcing them. I like to get up before the others, because, 1.) Then I don't have to start the day to that rude Klaxson bell that's used as an alarm clock for the entire district. 2.) I can have some privacy. 3.) It bothers the government that I decided to do my own thing, and I like to prod at the govenment, but I'm careful not to take it to far. They're afraid that if we get to much idividuality, that we might get revolutionary ideas.

We live in little groups, the infants and toddlers, (0-5 years), live in one room with the widows, who care for them. The girls (6-10 years) live with the single women. The teenager girls (11-17 years, which is when we turn of age) live with the female government-appointed Assistants. With the boys it's simialar, except that the Assisstants are male, and both genders of toddlers are mixed, to be seperated in the other groups.

Well, since I have two hours to spare until breakfast, I'll explain the floor plan and our lifestyle. So, there are six compartments in each row, for a total of five rows. Each compartment is six feet long, tall enough to reach the cealing, and three feet wide. Our clothes, - three sets of the previously mentioned stlyes, plus a dark gray dress for formal occasions – are hung up on the left wall, vertically. There isn't really a door for our compartments; the right wall, the one facing the aisle, kind of just...dissapears when we're allowed out. My word for it is dissovling. The aisles are two feet wide. This area just described, and the one I am currently sitting in (in our story), is Housing Room C. There are two doors leading from it; one off the front aisle, the next off the back aisle. My compartment is the one in the exact center of the room, number 15-C. That's my number for everything; no one here calls me by my name, just "15-C". That number is also stitched onto the shoulder of both arms and the back of my shirt. I think that the only place my name is known is in the files. I don't even know it, and no one else here knows theirs, either. We get it when we turn 17 – of age – and the government makes it up for you. Your parents, whoever they are, don't have a say. They don't get to raise us, either. Sure, we're born in hospatials, but our parents never see us, and after we're born we're whisked away to one of the Inspection Rooms. There, some members of the Government Child Inspection Agency look us over, - and they still come every year, to inspect us all lined up in front of our compartments – and if we don't meet the requirements, we're either killed or modified. It depends on if you have any "potential" or not. I think that I've pieced together the requirements, because we all look the same. You'll see what I mean in a second. Here they are:

Requirements for the girls: 1.) Blonde, straight-as-a-stick hair. Modification used: Permanent (as in forever, not just the month-long kind) hair dye, permanent straightener used on hair. 2.) Pale blue eyes. Modification used: Colored contacts if glasses are needed, or dye-injections. 3.) Sharp, straight nose. Modification used: Plastic surgery. 4.) By age 17, you stop growing at 6 foot. Modifictaion used: Special drink that makes you stop growing once you reach 6 foot, or you get streatched until you're six foot. If you're lucky, you might even survive!

That's all that I've figured out. Casey, one of the Assistants that has a soft spot for children, as opposed to the Knower, - called that because she seems to know what we're doing, when we're doing it, and exactly why we're doing it at all times – also is the Filer for the girls, and whenever she's the only one who's baby-sitting us, (I hate that word, don't you? We're not babies!) she'll tell us stuff. She told me what I looked like before I was modified. Dark chocolate brown eyes, black curly hair, button nose, and very small. I also cried a lot. Casey said that I would have been killed, but one of the Child Inspectors stood up for me. That Child Inspector died a few days later under mysterious cerumstances, ones that the government refused to investigate. Casey has absolutley flat-out refused to tell us our names and origins, or anything that big. Just little stuff, because she understands our thirst for information.

I remember starting slightly at the sound of the bell. About five minutes after the bell, the wall dissolves and we're let out to line up in front of our compartments. On either side of me are 14-C and 16-C. 14-C is my best friend ever, but 16-C is my worst enemy, besides the government. But don't you dare ever tell them I said that, okay?

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**A/N: So...how was it? Good - or bad? Please review! *gasp!* do you see that down there? It's an acceptance letter to Hogwarts! With your name on it!...(for Harry Potter freaks)... or... it could be a buttom that transports you to Ellesmera...(for Inheritence Cycle freaks)... or... it could also be a bow! With arrows!...(for Hunger Games freaks)...or...maybe it's a button that if you press, you'll be claimed by your godly parent!...(for Percy Jackson freaks)...or, wait, here's the best part! It could be all of those! *gasp!*...(for people like me, who are all of the above freaks! but please don't spoil anything for the Inheritence Cycle, i'm only on book three. Julia - damn you, julia! - already told me that Brom is Eragon father...I WILL GET MY REVENGE...), but here's the thing you have to know...for all of the above - whichever one you choose - it's oddly shaped like a review button! Go, now, before someone else gets to it! Smash it with the cursor! **

**Anyway, do I really have to be that imaginative to get you to review? Just, please people, REVIEW! Here, I'll make a deal with you; (if you don't want your review to apply to the following, them just say so in the review, kay?)**

**5 reviews or less - I update when I get around to it... which, considering my schedule, will be maybe next year. **

**10 reviews - I update in the next two months. (August)**

**15 reviews - I update in the next month. (July)**

**20 reviews - I update next week! **

**25 reviews (or more...0.0) - I update ASAP, maybe this week!**

**PLEASE, REVIEW, EVEN IF YOU THINK THAT IT'S A PIECE OF (*insert curse word of choice here, i was thinking maybe sh-t.*) Maybe, if the reviews I get are enthusiastic enough, I'll still update fast, regardless of the number. Maybe...just maybe...**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: So... I have exactly one review! Yay! *read with sarcasm* I uploaded this chapter anyway, though, because I finished it and I was tired of waiting for more reviews. And, plus, I figured that the first chapter sucked and that this one was better, so I thought that maybe if my story was more interesting, that people would review. Anyway, I got a Fictionpress account yesterday! It's the same pen name, same everything. I do have a story I would like to upload... should I? But, enough of my personal stuff, and on with the story!**

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_**I Get Some Strange**_**_ Ideas_**

I remember starting slightly at the sound of the bell. About five minutes after the bell, the wall dissolves and we're let out to line up in front of our compartments. On either side of me are 14-C and 16-C. 14-C is my best friend ever, but 16-C is my worst enemy, besides the government. But don't you dare ever tell them that I said that, okay? 14-C turns her head ever so slightly in my direction and winks. I nod slightly back. 16-C, loner that she is, glares at me. She's just jealous that I have friends and she doesn't, most likely. The only person that 16-C is friends with are the Capitol. Ugh. Don't get me started on the Capitol. They're the ones behind this government. "So, young ladies, the Inspectors are coming tomorrow." The Knower says, strolling down our aisle. No one dares to groan out loud, but I die a little on the inside.

Every year, the Inspectors come to see how we're doing, and if we're growing up to be the "fine young ladies" that they want us to be. And every year, I barely survive. Literally. See, I think that the Inspectors have it in for me or something, because they have tried to convince everyone that I need to be executed every year. "Do you have a problem, 15-C?" The Knower stops her walking and stares me down. She also seems to hate me. It seems to me like the Knower can read my mind sometimes. "No, ma'am." I say, trying to sound respectful. Using sass on The Knower is bound for trouble. Once, a girl, 10-B (this was back when we were in the B group, the girls.) was told by The Knower, "I can tell that you're lying to me, vermin. Although I can see how it would be an easy mistake to make, because of my young appearance, I was not born yesterday." 10-B replied, "'Young appearance'? Could have fooled me." She was there when we all went to sleep that night, but when everyone woke up, her compartment was cleaned out and it looked like the vacant ones. No one was inside. 11-B, in the glass compartment next to 10-B, swore that in the middle of the night, she heard some footsteps coming towards her compartment, but they passed and entered the next one, number 10. (Which belongs to 10-B) Then, 11-B heard struggling, but whoever it was collapsed and was dragged out. She didn't dare lift her head to look; however it was might have wanted to get rid of any witnesses, too. When we we were on the yearly field trip on a tour of the district, we all saw a girl who 7-B, 10-B's best friend, swore to be 10-B. 7-B said she could tell because when they were little, 7-B and 10-B had made up a code, and sometimes they used it as a kind of a language. They had picked it up from Mary, one of the women who took care of us. She called it, "Pig-Latin." Anyway, 7-B said that 10-B had mouthed a phrase in Pig-Latin, which translated to, "They sold me to slavery. Warn the others." But, back to the present (present in the story, anyway.)

The Knower, after my response, narrowed her eyes and, after a moment, said, "Fine, but don't expect to be as lucky this year as you normally are, girl." And she continued down the aisles, repeating the message that the Inspectors were coming at every turn. I exhaled only after she was two rows way. 16-C was still smirking at me. She just soaks it up whenever I get told off. I exchange my signature, "Please," glance with 14-C. We still have to be lined up in front of our compartments. _Wait... Where's Casey? _Typically, Casey and the Knower stagger their starting times so that the Knower comes through, then a few rows later comes Casey. Needless to say, 16-C hates Casey. "So, you may break your lines now, and go to Dining Hall C. As you may have noticed, Casey will not be with us today, as she is out sick. We are, of course, trying to get her up to top-shape, but she seems to have a rare, uncommon disease. The previous inhabitants of Panem, the ones who called it North America, have documented this illness as "Small Pox." Typically contagious, you don't need to worry, as we have her in confinement so as not to start an epidemic. Certified doctors from the Capitol are on their way now; they will arrive around tomorrow, with the Inspectors." Immediately, I began to worry. "Small Pox"? What's Small Pox? I, along with everyone else, make my way to Dining Hall C. 14-C comes up to me and asks, "Do you have any idea what Small Pox is?" I answer no. After a short pause, 14-C says, "I hope that you get through this Inspection unscathed. It would be hard to have to find another best friend in this place." She jokes. I just nod. As we make our way out the door in the back of the room, and down the twisting, concrete hallway, 16-C comes up to me, accompanied by 17-C and 18-C, her two lackeys that have, as far as I know, only started following 16-C around because they're scared of her. "So...if it isn't Little Miss Rebellious. Always has to have her way, always has to command her amount of respect, and always has to be saved from Inspection by Casey." My cheeks burn as I remember the events that 16-C is referring too. The first, when I insisted on getting my way over something stupid – in my defense, I was little. The second, when I – because of a dare, mind – managed to convince 17-C and 18-C that I was descended from royalty, a great-great-great times a million granddaughter of one of those Queens from before Panem. I think I used Queen Elizabeth's name. The third event was last year, when Casey somehow managed to beg for my life when the Inspectors were taunting me, and singing 16-C's praises. I look down at the floor, wishing that I hadn't put my ribbon in just yet, so that my hair would cover the fiery-red on my pale skin. 16-C sneers and flounces away, with 17-C and 18-C following her like lost little puppies. "Why do you let her embarrass you like that? No one else cares about what happened those times, except for you. It only matters to her because it bothers you. If you stop giving her a reaction, she'll leave you alone." 14-C says sagely. "I-I don't know why." I confess, still stung by 16-C's words. "I guess... I mean, she – and the stuff she talks about – don't bother me when she's not around, but when she brings stuff up right in front of me, I just – freeze up." "So you'd prefer it if she talks about these things behind your back?" 14-C counters. "What you need to do is stop giving her things to taunt you with." "Really? Well, 14-C, I'm not as perfect as you are. Who do you think you are, anyway, trying to act all high-and-mighty, giving me advice about how to stand up to 16-C after the fact, but whenever she's around, you don't say a word in my defense? Hmm?" I snap. Suddenly, 14-C is bugging me. I don't know why. "Hypocrite. That's exactly the sort of thing we're talking about with you. And, anyway, how do you except to ever learn to take care of yourself, when I keep doing it for you? _Hmm?_" She mocks. "Besides, what I meant was not to not make mistakes, but to not let them bother you. Just let it side right off." "It's not that easy, 14-C! What if I just told you to suck it up and to stop being terrified of the outside? What's that called, anyway? Agoraphobia? You can't just wake up one day and say to yourself, 'Oh, I'm not going to let this bother me anymore!' and except it to stop bothering you – just like that!" I shot back. "Well, if you can't get over it all together, then at least, in front of 16-C, pretend that it doesn't bother you." 14-C says reasonably. We walk in silence the rest of the way through the tunnel, her slightly offended, me silently fuming.

At the Dining Hall, I plunk down at a table next to 14-C. I notice that 16-C, 17-C, and 18-C are scurrying from table to table, gossiping to all who will listen. _God, doesn't she have anything better to do? _"So... Where do you think we're going today?" 14-C asks as an attempt to break the ice. Once a month this year, we go on a field trip to one of the Districts. The order is different every time, but sometimes you can guess it. "Maybe... District 11? We haven't gone there this year." "Ooh, I hope so! I'd love to go see the fields and the fresh air and the farms, and meet some of the farmers, and..." 14-C continues to ramble on. She loves farming and agriculture and such, but it's a shame that she can never try it. Once, she put a few handfuls of dirt into her pocket and brought it back to her compartment, hiding it under her sleeping bag. Then, when they served us apples, she kept one of the seeds, planting it into her little pile of dirt, in a cup she had smuggled back from the Dinging Hall. Every day she would bring some water back for it, and eventually she had a green sprout, about 5 inches high. This made it harder to hide, and when Casey came by during rounds, she gave 14-C a warning look and mouthed, "They're not going to like that." Then, when the Knower came by, she started making fun of 14-C and generally yelling at her. 14-C didn't get any food for two days after that, but I would always save a little for her.

Actually, we did end up going to District 11, but it wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. The people there were half-starved, like at home. I remember being surprised at that, because if they grow food, shouldn't they be fat and happy? My confusion was answered when the Knower insisted that we watch a whipping, and before hand, the Mayor read off the charges, "This farm-hand, Sprout Greenfield, was caught both smuggling and eating plums, peaches, grapes, apples, and a variety of fruits and vegetables, and also wheat. It is known that he is only a small link in a bigger circle to get food to various families in this district, but the other people involved are unknown, as Greenfield refuses to speak, or to defend himself. This monstrosity will be quelled and put to an end. These greedy people who are already very lucky need to be punished. Let Sprout Greenfield be an example of how we will punish the others." Then the whipping started. The Knower, 16-C, 17-C, 18-C, the Mayor, and all peace-keepers attending were – not literally, as we weren't sitting – on the edges of their seats, drinking it up. The citizens of District 11 in general looked uncomfortable, but no one did anything. I, 14-C, Casey, and a few others looked away. Throughout the whipping, Sprout never made a sound, until they were taking him away. Then he lifted his face to the onlookers, and said, "Is feeding starving people a crime? Is punishing people who are trying to do good in a world of evil a crime? Here is a message to my accomplices; 'Do not be discouraged. Continue with your defiance. Banish your cowardice.'" Sprout looked like he was going to say more, but the peace-keepers responsible for transporting him hit Greenfield on the jaw, and the sharp twist of his head caused by it knocked him out. The Knower, and everyone else who was excited about the whipping now looked a little off-putted after Sprout Greenfield spoke. Then one of the peace-keepers shouted, "He's got no pulse!" Another said, "The blow with the whipping musta done 'im in. Combonation, ya know?" A boy in the crowd cried out, "No!" And another person told him, "I'm so sorry about your father." Oh. So the boy, around 7-ish, was Sprout's son. The peace-keepers were arguing now, trying to pin the blame on each other. Apparently, Greenfield wasn't supposted to die, just be tourtured, and then interrigated some more. No... wait,... "They're trying to claim the blame!" I gasped. Beside me, 14-C nodded. "They think it's an hounr, killing a man." She said disgustedly. The Knower looked overjoyed, ang the Head Peace-keeper stepped forward and said, "Let that be a message to all of you." I thought about Sprout's last words. _Do not be discouraged. Continue with your defiance. Banish your cowardice. _Those were pretty good last words. They meant something. _Oh, yes, that sent a message, all right, Head Peace-keeper. Just not in the way you want. _

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**So... 15-C is getting some rebellious ideas... but she's not quite sure what to do with them yet. Same review rules as last chapter, and the various prizes as mentioned last chapter are still hiding as a review button! Tell me which one you picked to see the button as in your review, please!**

_**Till the Kitchen Sinks,**_

_**Proud Voracious Reader**_

_**a.k.a**_

**_Cami (no, that's not my real name.) _**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: So...still only one review, and no one has favroited or story alerted this... *awkward silence* PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE! Just review, or favorite, or subscribe, or SOMETHING! PLEASE! Anyway, one with the storyee! Please, even if you don't review or favorite or subscribe, vote on my newest poll on my profile! It has to do with possible new stories!**

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**Chapter Three**

There wasn't much to see in District 11, which really disappointed 14-C. Sure, there were a lot of orchards and fields, but they were all gated off, and it made everything seem closed to the world. There were a lot of tracker-jacker nests, so we all had to be careful of where we went. There were little kids; toddlers to about 10 years old, perched up high in the swaying trees, picking the highest fruits. All of the food goes to the Capitol, and a little – typically the rotten food deemed unfit for the Capitol citizens - is sent back. District 11 is much larger than at home, and the houses here are small shacks, that look like one good gust of wind would knock them over. It's always sunny and warm here, so they can grow more and grow longer. There's a thirty foot high fence topped with razor wire, with metal ground plates and guard towers frequently. The entire time, 14-C was whispering into my ear, hotly objecting to the treatment. "What give the Capitol the right to do this?" "Power," I whispered back. "The Capitol has the power of fear. Everyone here is scared and just trying to survive." To which 14-C replied defiantly, "Well, considering they have all the food here, if they had some properly trained and armed soldiers, they could cut off the Capitol from the food supply. Then, District 11'ers would have the upper hand, negotiate with the President, maybe even attack the Capitol after they were weakened from starving awhile. This is disgusting repayment of feeding the Capitol!" _Well, 14-C would certainly be a good person to have on my side of a rebellion. She's good at strategy. And farming. _I stop short with surprise. I've never thought like that before. Jokingly, sure, but never seriously, like that. "What's the matter, 15-C, Queen of Losers? Get moving!" 16-C whispers suddenly, harshly, into my ear. At first, I am tempted to just do as I am told, and continue moving, without comment. But then, remembering 14-C's advice, I say back, "Thanks for the reminder, Your Majesty, who reigns over Suck-Ups, and who is the biggest of them all. Where are your lackeys? I don't see them here." 16-C looks surprised, along with other people in earshot. I've never done that sort of thing before to 16-C. It's always her who wins in a verbal fight. Taking satisfaction from the look on her face, I add, "And you might want to stop gaping like a fish. Wouldn't want to get a tracker-jacker sting in there, now would we?" Smiling sweetly, I turn around a start walking again. 14-C comes up to me, beaming. "I'm so proud of you!" She gives me a big hug. "Okay, okay, you can stop now. You're making me feel like a little kid." 14-C let's go of me.

When we get back, we're shoved into our various classrooms. 14-C sits next to me. That's the advantage to having a best friend that's the number right next to you. Luckily, 16-C isn't in this class; the cut-off for this class and the beginning for the next are right after me. I guess sometimes life acts in my favor. Occasionally. I guess that to compensate for not having 16-C in my class, I have the Knower for my teacher. "15-C! Will you please stop staring out the window and answer my question?" The Knower says sharply. "Y-yes ma'am. Will you repeat the question, please, ma'am?" I ask rather timidly. The Knower lets out a bark of laughter. "Repeat the question? Repeat it? Fine, Your Highness, I will repeat the question. What is your opinion on the treatment of that criminal, Sprout Greenfield, in District 11?" "I think it was," _disgusting, repulsive, scary, terrible, pointless, stupid, just generally all around wrong. Yes, I think it was wrong. _I pause as I struggle inside: Do I stand up for my beliefs, or lie out of cowardice? "Something that the Capitol would have approved of." I finish. Yes, that's true. The Capitol, bloodthirsty heartless monsters that they are, would have approved of it. I was telling the truth, but I still felt kind of ashamed with myself. I am a coward. I could have stood up for that man during the whipping. I could have stood up to the Knower. I could have... the possibilities are endless. The Knower looks at me for a minute, as if trying to read my meaning behind the statement. I keep my face expressionless. Finally, she gives up and just nods, and moves on to the next question analyzing our field trip, which is directed at my best friend. "So, 14-C, what do you think of the conditions in District 11?" I grip the seat of my chair. 14-C will have to do through the same decision I did, and she can't re-use my answer. "I-I-" She breaks off, biting her lip. "I think...I-I think that...that the people in District 11 are lucky to get what they have, and shouldn't be greedy." She finishes triumphantly. At first, I am slightly disappointed in her, thinking that14-C succumbed and lied out of fear. But then, I realize what she meant, that what she was basically saying was that she wouldn't put it past the Capitol to give them nothing, so District 11 was lucky to get as little as they did. She was also saying that they shouldn't be greedy, because if they take everything, no one else will get any. 14-C meant not to take too much for yourself, not that smuggling some to give to others was bad. She did the same sort of thing I did, saying something that wasn't exactly a rebellious statement, but it couldn't exactly be counted as an agreement to the Capitol, either. It could go either way.

Once again, the Knower studies the face of the answerer, trying to prove that we're being defiant. Once again, she gives up and moves on. "Well, I've asked all the questions needed, so open your History books to page 222. We will read about a story that the former inhabitants of this land, back when it was larger and referred to as North America, seem to value highly. They called it the Revolutionary War, and it was fought over independence from the British. These people went so far as to having a holiday for the date that a declaration of independence was drawn up and sent to the British in defiance..." The Knower continues with the lesson. _This is actually kind of interesting... except that the Knower is teaching it. Maybe I could – " _" Ma'am?" I say boldly, raising my hand. "And what gives you the right to interrupt me, 15-C?" "I was just wondering if I could take the textbook back to my compartment tonight, to study." I asked. Funny, it seems that after a – small, but still, - act of defiance against her, it's now easier to stand up against the Knower. She narrows her eyes, and with a slight sneer, says, "No. You can't take it back to your compartment. That's final." "Why?" I ask innocently. The Knower looks surprised, she probably hasn't had anyone contradict her orders before, because she's actually really high up in capitol government, she was just planted here to make sure that all of us District 13'ers stay in line. "W-why?" The Knower repeats. I am actually kind-of surprised at this, because no-one, and I mean no-one, has ever, ever, caught the Knower off guard. It just isn't possible. Until now. "Yes. Why?" I repeat also. There's a slight pause, and the Knower seems to regain her composure. "Because I said so, that's why." I have an idea, though, so I keep quiet and just nod. The Knower continues with her lesson.

After History, we move on to Math, and once that's done the Knower gets ready to transition. The Knower takes Math and History, while Casey does ELA and Science. The Knower then returns for what we – the children – call "Propos" because it's basically just a bunch of propaganda for the Capitol. It's officially called "Current Events" and it's suppose to keep us "up to date on current happenings in Panem, so that we are "politically knowledgeable", which is apparently a necessity to being the well-rounded, educated, and loyal young ladies that the Capitol wants us to be.

Ugh.

But I soon notice that the Knower isn't packing up her textbooks; she's setting up for what looks like Science. I raise my hand. "Um, ma'am?" The Knower looks up slightly. "Well, 15-C, you do seem to be very interruptive of class today. What?" "Um, doesn't Casey teach Science? And ELA? Shouldn't she come and see us now?" The Knower looks at me disbelievingly. "I would have thought that you, of all people here, would remember the fact that Casey is currently suffering from Small Pox, a deadly disease brought to this area by its former inhabitants when exploring from Spain. Millions of the natives died from it." "But, wasn't Casey at the District 11 field trip with us?" I say, confusedly. The Knower shakes her head, and the rest of the class – except for 14-C – looks at me like I'm insane. Which, for the record, I am, but frankly, who isn't? "She wasn't there. Why did you think so?" The Knower asks. "Because – Because I saw her there." I dwindled off, losing my nerve, struck with the sudden thought that maybe I had just, oh, I don't know, imagined it? The Knower stares at me for a few more seconds, then digs around in her desk for something. Finally, she finds whatever she was looking for, and scribbles on a piece of paper, shoving it into an envelope and sealing it. "Here. Take this too the apothecary." I stood up and took the envelope, then with a glance at 14-C, left for the apothecary. As I was walking out the door and through the hallway, it occurred to me that I might want to see what the Knower is saying about me, but the stupid letter is in a sealed envelope. As I leave the first hallway, I come to the Housing Room. Then, going out the door at the front of the room, I enter another hallway. At the end of this one, I pause slightly at the door to the Entry Room. The receptionist is typing away at a – what's it called? – computer. She looks up. I never bothered to learn her name. She was just like all the other pro-Capitol people; conceited, cruel, and just generally the sort of person that decent people don't like, or at least feel slightly uncomfortable around. "I need to see your slip." She said, with a tone of voice that obviously said that she didn't like dealing with us kids, and that she had better things to do. "Don't have one. But I'm supposed to take this letter to the apothecary; you came tell because it has Agatha's seal on the envelope." The receptionist holds out her hand for the envelope, and I pass it to her. She runs her fingers over the wax seal, and then holds the letter up to the fluorescent light, probably trying to see inside. After a few seconds, she hands it back. "Fine." She says dismissively, and within a minute, she has forgotten I'm there. Leaving, I slam the door experimentally, because it's not allowed. Pausing outside the door, I listen. Nothing. So, the receptionist wasn't pretending, she actually did forget me. Hmm. I don't like it when people ignore me; I'm the sort of person that – only with people I know, though; other than that, if it's a complete stranger, then I don't mind – commands attention.

Turning, I stop and take in the sights of District 13. The area that I live in is known as the Outer Edge. It's called that for two reasons: one, because it's located on the edge of both the district and the country, on the other side of the woods from District 12. I'm told that life there is similar, except that the children, all of them, can live with their parents. There are people rushing around, with dirt on their faces and clothes, and I am certain that they are only rushing because if they're caught wasting time, them the punishment is a whipping. Wait. Let me describe the district for a second.

So. The Outer Edge is the poorest, and it's right next to the woods, separated by a 50 foot tall fence that has a watchtower every 5 miles. The foundations of the fence are concrete that runs down for 50 feet, so that it's impossible to dig under in 8 hours. Every 8 hours, a group of five Peacekeepers patrols the fence for 1 hour. The other part of the district, the Middle, is called that because the middle class people live there and it's in the middle of the district. Then, the last sub-division in our district is the Wealths, which is where all of the filthy rich people live, along with most of the Capitol people planted here to keep an eye on the true District 13'ers. Most people live in the Outer Edge. The way people tell each other apart is looks; the Outer Edge people – before modifications – have tan skin, dark brown eyes, and dark brown wavy hair. The Middle people rarely have to be modified; they already have blonde hair, and blue eyes. The Wealths people are from the Capitol, so they can look like they want, and do whatever they want. I've never been over there or seen anyone from that area though. I can't imagine the diversity there; people that all look different – unthinkable! Anyway, I was – what, again? Oh, yeah – I was watching the Outer Edge activity. Once I have drunk in the grim sights, I step off the wrap-around porch of the Child's Complex, and start a brisk walk towards the apothecary. Secretly, I love being at the apothecary, because my cousin runs it. The only reason I know this illegal information is because one day Babs just blurted it out, and then she proved it. I really, really don't want to bring up how she proved it right now, because it's kind of – a touchy subject for me, okay? Stop asking about it. Anyway, after navigating my way through the twisting and turning cobblestone streets, I find myself in front of the apothecary.

Babs opens the door. "Oh, hello, P – I mean 15-C. What's wrong?" I blink in surprise and stutter, "D-D-Did you just almost say my name? How would you know my name? Our parents don't get to name us, so we're basically nameless until 17, right?" Babs looks surprised. "No, I didn't. Why? And you still haven't answered me, what's wrong?" "Why does something have to be wrong for me to visit?" I ask, trying to cover up. Apparently, I've been seeing things lately. Babs sighs. "Because this is the apothecary, where the Child's Complex sends everyone that is sick or hurt. And two, the only way children are allowed out of the Child's Complex is on the monthly field trip or if they have to get sent here. There are a few other exceptions, but this is the most common." "Okay, fine." I give up as Babs ushers me inside. "So," She begins briskly as I plop on her large kitchen table, which also doubles as an exam table. But, I know for a fact that Babs cleans it very thoroughly with medical alcohol every fifteen or so minutes. Babs says that it's worth it because she eats on that table. "So," She continues, humming to herself as she studies me. "What's that letter you have there?" Babs says suddenly. "Ohh... This is a letter from Agatha, and I think that it might be about my supposed mental health 'issues'." Babs' mouth flickered upwards as if to smile, but I gave her a glance that said, "This. Is. Not. Funny." And she put her expressionless face on. "Hand me the letter." She intoned, stretching out her hand. I dramatically hand over the stupid envelope. Babs opens it and begins to read, occasionally making noises such as, "Ohh..." Or, "Hmm..." And sometimes, "Uh-huh..." This made me nervous. Just what did everyone think was wrong with me? "Okay, 15-C, what's wrong, in your opinion?" Babs said after finishing the letter, sitting down across from me. "Oh, there's something wrong alright, but not with me. It's everyone else that makes me worry about sanity here." I say with a serious look on my face. And suddenly, I hear laughter. Looking at Babs, I realize that she's not laughing. I'm not, either. A door opens down the hall, and someone steps out. "Oh, hello, Babette." A suave voice says. And, to my despair, the President of Panem steps out of the shadows.

_**This is an official line break. This is an official line break. This is an official line break.**_

"I believe that we have some things to... _talk_ about, Babette. And – oh – is this darling 15-C? I have something to discuss with you, too." The president says smoothly, as though all he needs to do is talk to us about getting promoted or moving to the Wealths.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

"But, I would like to talk to dear Babette first, so, if you don't mind, 15-C, could you step out into the hallway? I have some bodyguards to keep you... company." Of course, I step into the hallway. Instantly, four people dressed in all black step out of the same room that the president had been in, and the surround me. "Hi." I try. No answer, not even a glance. "So – is your pay good at this job? Seems very important, protecting the president." I continue to try to make conversation. Nothing. Getting frustrated, I blurt out, "Not a very talkative bunch, are we?" One of them glances at me quickly, and seems to say with that look, "Shut up or we shoot you." So, I did the smart thing and shut up. Standing there, surrounded on all sides by heavily armed and trained body guards, I listen to the voices hushed by the closed door and await my turn to have a – how did he put it? – conversation with the President of Panem. Talk about anxiety!

After what seemed like five hours, the president opened the door. "You may now join us, 15-C." He said gravely, as if announcing my funeral. Or, as I noticed Babs' face when I walked in, Babs' funeral. She looked terrified, with her face whiter than paper, and her eyes vacant and dead-looking. And then, as the president gestured for me to sit, I noticed that Babs' hands were handcuffed together and to the chair. Her feet were shackled together and to the chair also. "Babs?" I whispered. The president, a touch exasperated that it was taking me so long to sit down, glanced in the direction I was staring. "Oh...that. Your friend, Babette, has been suspected of treason against her country and leader, and will be, of course, given a fair trial before being executed. Yes, 15-C, we do have a lot to talk about." _What do I have to do with a rebellion? What does Babs have to do with a rebellion? Why am I included in this conversation – or, arrest? Is it because I'm friends with Babs, or because I was here at the time when he was talking to her, or – on, God – does he think that I'm involved in this rebellion? _

"Please, do sit down, 15-C." The president said calmly. I plopped into the chair, still shell-shocked. The president winced slightly at my lack of grace, or even tact. "So, 15-C, I thought that we should have a talk about what's right and what's wrong, and also about the classic good vs. evil. Now, if I say, 'the Capitol', what is the first thing you think?" I hesitate. Here it is again: Do I stand up for what I believe in or do I lie out of cowardice? "Wealth." I say. It's true, everyone in the Capitol is fabulously wealthy. The president looks slightly disappointed by my answer, but if he expected to uncover my hatred for the Capitol in one question like that, he was wrong. "So, 15-C, what do you think is 'right'? The Capitol in charge and life like it is now, or another life?" UGH! Why does this situation keep following g me around? The president is staring at me like a hawk. Suddenly, I remember an answer that Casey gave when asked a slightly similar question by the Knower. "I believe that there is no 'right' life or 'wrong' life, just the life we live and the life we want to live. We then must compare the life we want to live to the lives that are possible. Currently, the life we are living is the only life possible. So, the life we are living is the best life out of all the lives possible, because there aren't any lives to compare to. Thus, the life we are currently living is the best life, the worst life, the most boring life, and the most exciting life. Since it is the only life possible, it can be anything you wish, because there aren't any live to compare this one to." The president raises his eyebrows at this philosophical statement, then applauded. "That was a very wise conclusion, 15-C. I think, that because of your deep thoughts, you are ready to get your name. What do you think?" I am shocked out of my mind for the second- no, third – no, fourth time today. "W-W-What?" I stutter. "Well, even though you are three years away from getting your name, I think that you should get it now. I could even arrange for everything as though you were already of age, except that you would live with a guardian, of course. How about it?" The president looks like I should be absolutely ecstatic about this sudden idea, but I don't know... "Sure." I blurt out. Fifth time today that I'm shocked, but hey, who's counting? Except that this time, I surprised myself. "Great! We can catch the next train and be in the Capitol by the day after tomorrow!" "I have to go to the Capitol?" I ask. "Well, of course! Didn't you know that? The children – well, I don't suppose that they're children at this point – that have just come of age get on the train, and then they stay at the Capitol for two years maximum. Then, we dispatch them to the Districts I think that they would each do well in. Some stay in the Capitol, some don't. Also, the Capitol is where the paperwork is filled out." The president jumps up and strides over to the door, but stops suddenly with his hand hovering just above the door knob. "Oh. I almost forgot!" He turns to Babs, who has been zoned out during our entire conversation. "Babette, you'll come with us on the train, too, because you also need to get to the Capitol ASAP, for your trial, alright?" Babs, at the sound of her name, snaps back to reality. "Mnnhmm." She mutters, or something like that. She still looks distracted, like she's thinking a billion thoughts at once. The president then looks at me. "Well, come on! We have a train to catch." I follow him dazedly out the door and into the hall. "Okay, 15-C is accompanying us to the Capitol, along with Babette. If half of you could go secure her and bring her to the local Capitol Centre, and the other half come with us, then we should be able to get there in style. Come!" The group of four body guards became two groups of two, and one surrounded us, while the other barged into the room Babs was still in. "Will – Will she be okay?" I ask tentatively. The president looks over at me. "Will she be okay?" He repeated incredulously. Then he burst out laughing. "See, this is why I like children. So innocent, so naive. Of course she won't be alright; she's been charged with treason against her country, her leader, against anyone who happens to be more fortunate than her! She'll be given a – fair, mind – trial, then executed. She defines the scum of this rebellion!" "B-But-" I stop myself. "I understand your point of view." I said. _But that doesn't mean I have to agree with it,_ I thought. The president nodded. "Good. I'm glad that you understand. Now, come along!" He said cheerfully. We walked out of the door, and down the street. One of the beggars on the street, - for we were still in the Outer Edge, - tried to leap at the President, shouting, "How can you sleep at night, knowing that most of the people in your pathetic excuse for a 'country' are starving, homeless, and poor? You aren't even trying to do anything about it!" The two body guards caught the old man before he could get to the president, and pretty soon we were moving again, but this time dragging the man with us. He had been knocked out by a hit thrown by one of the body guards, and when I asked why he was coming with us, the president said, "Well, her tried to accost the leader of his country. He was a rebel, just like Babette, which means he will get fairly tried and then executed, also." We continued walking toward the train station, with me wondering, _If they're going to get a fair trial, then why is he so sure that they will lose and be executed?_

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**A/N: Hello again! I would repeat my shpeel (I love that word, don't you?) that was in the first a/n (the one at the top), but I'm kinda in a hurry, and it's a lotta words, and I'm lazy. So, please reffer to top a/n!**


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: I got exactly one more review since last chapter. *awkward silence in which crickets chirp in the background* But, this review made my day and inspired me to write faster! Thus, you all owe lilly - the person who reveiwed - because otherwise it would have been awhile before I update. You see, first of all, I had exactly two days to write an earth-shattering, ground-breaking, monumental speech for my graduating class. Then, I spent the two days leading up to graduation delivering this speech over. and over. and over again to my parent and all relatives who were foolish enough to come near, for I made them listen for ages to me reciting it a million times. I am sure that while I was actually delivering the speech up on stage, that my father - the only relative who came - was mouthing it along with me, and could have gotten up there and said it word for word, even without the print-out. Then, I spent that entire day celebrating graduation and the end of this school year, and then that afternoon my friends and I all rode a freind's bus, where her mom picked us up, and we had an awesome sleep-over. The next day, - Saturday - I was picked up around noon by my mom, and we went straight over to my aunt's house to watch the newborn puppies - so adorable! - because everyone else in my family besides my mom, me, and my dad had all gone camping for Father's Day, without bothering to invite us, of course. After puppy-sitting, we got home at noon for Sunday, and my dad was really mad because we had missed half of Father's Day, having slept-over at my aunt's, because her house is nicer. Then, after a hurried Father's DAy celebration, I got up at 6:30 on Monday - the first day of summer vacation! - to get ready for and drive over to this 12-day long summer school thing at my soon-to-be new school (because I had graduated from the old one). The summer school thing ends at noon, but do I get to ride the bus home, walk to my house, at chillax like the average person? No, of course not! My mom picks me up on her lunch break, and then drives back to work, sending me off to the library in the buliding where she works, for me to be used as free labor! Typically, I wouldn't mind much, as it's the library - and they have an amazing assortment of fiction - but the people there seem bent on giving me the tasks that require almost no energy, but a hell of a lot of time. Like shelving books, doing inventory, and scribbling out the barcodes with a MagicMarker on books that they're giving away. Not to mention that this whole summerschoolschedule will just repeat day after day - thankfully only on week days, but I'm sure something will pop up on the weekends - all the way up untill July 3rd! That's half my vacation, gone! IT'S A CONSPIRACY, I TELL YOU! **

**Well, thank you all so much for listening to my ranting, I feel much better now. If I haven't scared you away - yet - then please, on with the story!**

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**Chapter Four**

After walking through the rest of the Outer Edge, we finally get to as far as I have ever gone. Which happens to be the tailor's. I stop short in front of the tailor's, and the body guard behind me has to stop too. "Well, what are you waiting for?" The body guard growls. I stutter, "T-T-This is as far as I been." The president notices that I'm frozen and turns around. "What's wrong?" The smile fades from his face as he glances at me. The body guard shoves me forward, and I catch up with the rest. "Nothing, I just tripped, that's all." "Well, we're almost at the common train station, but we don't want to go there, do we? No no no, we'll be leaving from the Weaths train station, and the train that I came on is waiting! Let's go!" He continues walking quickly, and I do too. Passing the tailor's shop, I start avidly paying attention, as I don't want to miss a thing. Finally, we enter the Middle. I am surprised at how similar it is to the Outer Edge; except that it is slightly better kept, and slightly cleaner. The people here seem to have ever so slightly better manners, or maybe they're acting that way because the president is strolling through the streets, and the people here know and are affected by his power of dictatorship. Sure, his title is "president", but it's basically his way or the highway. Only in Panem, the saying should be, "It's his way or death." After the Middle, we entered the Wealths. The unnerving part was that no one was there. Not a single living thing was in the streets or anywhere else – that I could see -, except for the four body guards (the other two with Babs had joined up with us by now) me, Babs, and the president, still walking briskly through the streets. This area seems so much smaller than the others, and we reach the train station in no time. I gasp as I notice the huge, sparkling, perfect train in front of our little group. "Beautiful, isn't it?" The president remarks when seeing my expression. I just nod silently, still in awe. "Well, we'd best be going!" The president knocked in a pattern on the train door. _Knock. Knock. Knock-knock-knock. Knock. Knock. Knock-knock-knock. _Then, a thin, frail, young woman opened it. "Hello." She greeted the president sadly. "How many times have I told you, Belinda, don't open the door yourself! Don't do a thing yourself! That's what the slaves – I mean, servants, no, no, I mean _workers_ - are for!" The president admonished. Belinda is obviously from the Capitol, as she is not in regulation. Her hair is a neon shade of orange, and her eyes are a clear, piercing shade of blue that remind me of ice. Her gaze is foggy, though, and my guess is that Belinda has been infected with some deadly disease. Belinda also looks distant, like she's in a different world, attached to ours only by a thin thread. In response to the president she just nods slightly, and mutters what I assume to be consent. The president and I stand there awkwardly, waiting for Belinda to move aside and let us through. Still she stands there, leaning slightly on the door, staring into the distance. After a minute or so, her gaze snaps onto me. "So, you go by the name 15-C, correct?" Her tone is decisive and sharp, to the point. Her orange hair is frizzy, and wisps of is fly around in the breeze, giving her a supernatural look, with her detached gaze and pale skin, and her puffy, bright orange hair floating around her face. "H-How did you know?" I ask, bewildered. "I can see the dead people, the people whose lives have been ruined by my husband. On occasion, if they have something important to say, I am able to converse with them, but I can always see them. They are quite chilly around my husband, but strangely, they seem to like me well enough. We are useful to each other, nothing more. I am their connection to the world of the living, and they are my connection to the world of the deceased. The spirits are also able to tell the future, as you mortals are actually quite limited. You think that you're so high-and-mighty, but no, the departed are much more advanced, due to not being tied to life and this dimension. You are, you see, quite anchored. For example –" She is cut off by the president, who had left, along with his body guards, prior to the beginning of her speech. "Well, Belinda, I leave you alone with the new-comer for a few minutes, and already you are beginning to try and impress your mumbo-jumbo on her! I am ashamed!" He exclaims, dragging both of us inside. As we follow him down the hallway, I whisper, "I'd like to hear more of your 'mumbo-jumbo' later." Much to my surprise, I actually mean that. Not because I can "see them" too, it's just that I feel sorry for the lady, plagued as she was by these hallucinations and having no one to humor her. Belinda continues to stare off into the distance – she seems to do that a lot – and after a minute or so, she looks at me and whispers back, "I have been informed that you are being honest. If you come to my suite – number 14 – at 10:30, I will explain more, and perhaps we will test your perception of the departed." I nod. The president starts talking. "So, when we get to your suite, 15-C, you will find a daily schedule on your dresser. Please keep this, as it will be the schedule until we get to the Capitol, which is a long ways off from here. Five, maybe six days and nights? And that's if we don't stop at all, continuing at a break-neck speed constantly. No, losing the paper that tells you where you're supposed to be wouldn't do at all." We've stopped now, in front of a door matching all the others we have passed, except that the plaque on it said, "Suite 15". To the left, the door is marked, "Suite 14", with a slightly smaller plaque that says, "Belinda Snow, First Lady of Panem". I give a start as I realize that Belinda must be the president's wife. We had only been standing there for about a second – literally – and the president suddenly raises his voice and shouts, "Imbecile! I told you to have the door ready _before _we got here! Do you have a problem with that, Tenya?" A little child, no more than 8, comes running up the hallway, balancing two trays on either hand. "So sorry, sir, so, so, so, _so, _sorry, sir!" She begs. "Do not speak! I haven't given you permission to speck!" The president reprimands. The little girl, who I assume is Tenya, is wearing nice clothes, and then I notice her name on the door to the right, the door labeled, "Suite 16". The name on the door is this; "Tenya Snow, daughter of President Rodney Snow and First Lady Belinda Snow". The president continues his ranting. "And how many times have I told you not to run in the halls? It's unseemly! It's something that a _common person _would do!" He says, obviously disgusted with his daughter. Tenya wordlessly hands over the tray with a little plaque on it toward the President. "Do you really expect _me _to do that? Really?" He laughs mockingly. Tenya retracts the tray and, picking up the plaque and the tube of superglue sitting by it, begins to mount the plaque on my door. When Tenya's finished, I notice that it has a large blank space before saying, "adopted daughter of President Rodney Snow and First Lady Belinda Snow".

I remember thinking, _Oh my god. No. I don't want to be the daughter of this wretched man... even if his wife is okay. _

I think, at this point, I fainted.

_This is an official line break. This is an official line break. This is an official lie break. _

I awoke in a large, fluffy bed, with enough room in it for at the very least, five people. The room was mostly modest; it had what it needed to have, some more, but it wasn't over-the-top. A big window was to my right, but a thick curtain concealed it. To my left, a door. I heard a ticking sound, like a clock. Turning my head, I notice that there is in fact a clock, on the dresser. 6:30. Oh, wow, it's that late already? It might have been about 3:00 when I left the apothecary...maybe 3:30 when I got on the train...add a few minutes for the time it took to get to my room... in short, I had been sleeping for at least two hours. Sitting up, I consult the schedule on my dresser. Currently, I am supposed to be having dinner, but I'm not really hungry right now, so I explore my room. I have a dresser, an ornate mirror, a closet, a nice bathroom, and an equipped kitchen. Nothing much to see, really, except for the fact that I'm marveling at how much room I have – all to myself. My excitement is short-lived, however, when I realize the reason that I passed out in the first place. No, no, no. I must have been hallucinating, or something. Maybe I did pass out, but it certainly wasn't in the hallway or a brand-new Capitol train, the president's family around me, on my way to – officailly – come of age at the Capitol. Ha! The idea is laughable. _But, _the ever-present contrary bit of my brain says, _if none of that happened, then where are you and what's happening now? _

Sometimes, I hate myself. This is one of those times.

Well, there's only one way to find out weather this part of my life is a lie, or weather – god forbid – everything really happened today. I pad lightly over to the door, my actions eeriely silent. Putting my ear to the door, I stop breathing for a second to listen.

Nothing. Easing open the door, I marvel at the percise engeinering it must have taken to create it, as it is ghostly silent and light as a feather, even though it is very thick, dark wood. Peeking out the door, I find the hallway empty. To my despair, I find that upon stepping out into the hall, my faint footsteps hushed by the lush carpet, that I am indeed on the Capitol train. Suddenly, a new idea gives me a slight shimmer of hope. Inspecting the plaque on the door, I take careful note of the blank space. It isn't blank anymore, though. On it is an engraved name, Willow Snow. Now, the plaque reads, "Willow Snow, adopted daughter of President Rodney Snow and First Lady Belinda Snow". I sigh, relieved. This room could belong to anyone! Well, I mean, anyone who's an adopted daughter of Belinda and the president. I just ovverreacted, made a ridiculous assumption, and passed out from it.

I am ashamed.

I am so distracted an busy berating myself, I don't notice the muffled footsteps approaching, maybe because they are quiet and seem to fade into the rocking of the train in motion. "Do you need anything, Miss?" A small, timid voice that I recognize as Tenya's, says. Whirling around, I blurt out, as I am dying to know, maybe out of suspicion, maybe out of curiousity, maybe out of the need to apoliguise for taking their room, "Who's Willow Snow?" Tenya seems surprised with my question. "Don't you know?" She asked, increduoly. "No," I say slowly. "Why, should I?" Tenya replies with, "Well, typically, someone can be excpeted to remember their own name." I feel an urge to faint again, but instad chide myself. _What is this with losing conciousness lately? I'm going soft! _

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**A/N: review, my minions! oh, yeah, and for those of you that had/have a tumblr, I used to be artificialfacebook. Remember me? Well, I never got to say goodbye, but you see, my parents discovered my tumblr, and they didn't like the sort of stuff all the people I was following posted. You know, typical kid stuff, cursing, joking, but they didn't like it. If only they saw how everyone acts at school... so, if you want proof that I am the all-knowing, beautiful, and witty artificialfacebook, then PM me - or review - with a question or memeroy, and I shall answer, proving to all you non-believers that I truly am the all-knowning, beautiful, and witty artificialfacebook. God, that sounded concieted! Sorry. **

**REVIEW!**

**Till the kitchen sinks, the bed spreads, and the butter flies, **

**Proud Voracious Reader aka Cami**


	5. Chapter Five

_**A/N: So, so, so sorry for not updating sooner, it's just that I never got around to updating. I already have this written up to chappie nine, though, so I'm gonna put those all up today. Hope I don't end up sending to many alerts to people who have this on story alert . . . but I don't think anyone has. :( Oh, well, your loss. I have promised myself that I wouldn't whine to much about the lack of reviews and alerts and such, because it sounds depressing. So, here's to a happier authoress' note! Yeah! . . . What, no one else joins in? Fine, then, be that way. Anyway, I was about to upload what's supposed to be chap six instead of chap five, so be grateful that I noticed at the last second that I hadn't put this up there yet! I coulda sworn that I put this up there, though . . . whatever. It's up now. Warning: I was kinda pissed at the world that day that I wrote this, mainly because it just wasn't my day - and I'm glad it wasn't because it was a crappy day - but anyway, Willow gets hurt in this chap. Bad. But I probably wouda done something like this eventually anyway, because I don't want her acidentially turning into a Mary-Sue, and I need something to hold her back for the mo. She will get better, though! **_

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**Chapter Five**

Tenya stares at me. "Well, then, wouldn't that make us...sisters?" I say awkwardly, trying to break the ice. "I suppose." She says after a pause. Tenya isn't in regulation, either. She has waist long brown hair, with big, brown eyes, a small, button nose, and tiny rose lips. Her face is a small oval. Tenya herself, in general, seems small and innocent. "H-How old are you?" I ask. "Twelve." She replies. "And you?" "Fifteen." "Have you run into my mother yet?" She asks curiously. "Yes. She's... Interesting." I finish lamely, not wanting to offend. Tenya nods knowingly. "Yes, but there's some truth to her ramblings." I open my mouth to interrupt, but Tenya silences me with a raised hand and continues, "If you want more information, then you'll keep your promise of visiting her." "How did you know that I said I would visit?" I inquire, surprised. "She does that with everyone. Probably said something along the lines of, 'If you want to know more, then come and visit my room – Suite 14 – at 10:30, I will explain more and we will test your perception of the deceased.' She does that with everyone." I'm taken aback slightly, as Tenya just – almost – repeated word for word what Belinda had said. "Well, I'll go to visit her if you come with me." I respond. At this, I see what is possibly a small smile flit across Tenya's face. "Let me guess. You think that she's a little insane, or at least schizophrenic. Because of this, you are just a little daunted by the prospect of being alone with a partially insane old woman." I stumbled over my next words, trying, once again, not to offend. "N-no, I just – I just – " Tenya, with that small smile still, shakes her head and gives a small laugh. "It's okay, she really is schizophrenic. Some high-and-mighty doctor form the Capitol checked her out a couple of times, and the result was the same. Sure, I'll go with you. But for now, we should get back to our rooms; dinner's over, and curfew is being enforced now." "Really? What time is it?" "7:00, but we've only been out here for 15 minutes." I nod, and say, "Well, see you." Tenya nods also and says, "See you."

And, quick as a mouse, disappears around the corner. I re-enter my room, and, flopping down on the bed, I start whispering, "Willow." Over and over again, to try to get used to it, to try it out and see how it sounds. That's how I fall asleep. "Willow. Willow. Willow. Willow. Willow. Willow..."

#%&*#%&*#%&*#%&*#%&*

It's not too long – or so it seems – before I realize some one really is chanting my name over and over and over again. Now, though, they seem to be walking away. Then comes the sound of running water. Then, the sound of water running into something, like a bowl. The footsteps come back. A slight pause.

"Ah!" I shout, sitting bolt upright, soaked with icy cold water. Blinking rapidly, I notice Tenya smirking slightly, holding an empty – wet – bucket in her hands. "What was that for?" I demand. "Well, you were kind of hard to wake up. So, I thought that this would work, as it had always worked for my..." Tenya, evidently having said more than she meant to, dwindled off, staring out the window. "Who?" I ask. Tenya gives me a sharp glance. "It's 10:00, and Mother always takes longer than she says, so we'd better get going." Wordlessly, I grab a pair of clothes and head for the bathroom to change, as Tenya was there. My mind is full of thoughts as to who Tenya might be referring to, but none of them seem plausible. Eventually, I go into the bedroom again – which kind of doubles as a living room – to meet Tenya. Right at the door, I pause. "So...how do I handle your mother?" I ask. "Actually, she's your mother too, right? But anyway, just humor her, and you'll be fine." Tenya says impatiently, and opens my door to the hallway. Without breaking her short but quick stride, she turns and walks up to Belinda's door, and raises her fist to knock, but the door swings open suddenly, and Belinda says, "Oh! I'm so glad that you're here. The spirits alerted me of your arrival." Tenya walks in the room once Belinda has moved aside, but once I see her room, I stand there in the doorway and stare. Belinda's room is in the same format as mine is, but the decorating is different. There are a bunch of tables, from big, sturdy oak ones, to rickety little mahogany tables. On those tables are several silver instruments, all of them emitting different colored puffs of smoke. The one by the bed is giving of bright blue puffs, so frequent it's almost like a stream, compared to the one by the door, which is producing forest green puffs, shaped like – are those dinosaurs? - every minute or so. The one in the middle of the room is emitting neon pink puffs shaped like hearts. Then, the one by the door to the kitchen is giving off blood-red colored smoke, in the shape of various weapons; spears, bows, arrows, swords, knives, and several other things that I can't identify. These are just some examples, and there are dozens more, maybe...35-ish more? There's a really tall desk, too, that goes up to about my chin, even though I'm about 5' 4". On one side, an ornate chair, almost like a throne, with a tall backing. On the other side, three perfectly ordinary chairs. Set in the middle of the table is one of those instruments. This one is giving off a gray puff shaped like a cloud every five or so seconds. "Well, come in! Don't let my room unnerve you...too much." Belinda says cheerily. As soon as I step in the room, though, I feel a cold wave wash over me. "Willow, we are not going to get anywhere if you have to pause for five minutes every time that you take a step forward. Hurry up!" Tenya say, exasperatedly. I shake my head and continue walking, sitting down in one of the normal chairs, while Tenya sits in another and Belinda sits in the throne-like chair. Reclining, she studies me with that distant, detached gaze of hers, and I notice that many strands her puffy neon orange hair are still flying around gently, as if there is a light breeze.

There isn't one.

After a long pause, Belinda looks to her right, and seems to be listening to something. Then, after another pause, she nods and says, "Well, yes, I understand that, but what if..." Then, another pause. She nods empathically. "Yes, yes! I know that! But my point is..." Once again, pause. After a while, Belinda sighs and says, "So, Willow, who do you think picked out your name?" It takes me a while to answer, as I really don't know. "Ummm... I dunno, who?" "Me." Belinda says simply, still studying my face, as if looking for a certain reaction. Struck by a sudden question, I blurt out, "What does my name mean?" Belinda looks satisfied, while Tenya looks curious. "Willow is derived from the tree, noted for its flexibility, resilience, and graceful appearance, hence the adjective 'willowy' which means 'graceful, slender, and lithe'. The name typically depicts a strong, beautiful, creative lady, collected and diplomatic. I did not name you Willow because I saw these traits in you, or because I wished to bless you with these traits; no, I merely made a prophecy, like a do every so often. You see, Willow, I for-saw that you would acquire these traits, but it won't be easy, and it won't be sudden. It will take time, how much time I do not know, and it will take hard work, but you won't be working towards these traits themselves, but to a different goal. During the process of achieving – or losing, I cannot tell which – this goal, you will earn these valuable character traits." Belinda, now finished with her speech, leans back in her chair and studies the two of us – Tenya and I – over steeped fingers. I sit there in stunned silence, - how could she ever think that I would be any of those - while Tenya asks eagerly, "What does my name mean?" Belinda turned to Tenya, smiling slightly. "Your name is a special case. It isn't a common name, and, in fact, I made it up myself. You see, the Ten- comes from the number ten, because our number system is based on ten. The –ya derives from 'yes'. So, the character traits you will eventually gain – like Willow, through toil and patience – will be dependability, strength, agreeable-ness, and a likeable-ness." Tenya nodded slowly, her big brown eyes sparkling. "So. My point for inviting you here, Willow, is that I would like to test how perceptive you are of the deceased. Hence, this beautiful Specter-Tester. Now, if you would please leave the room, Tenya? I will do the same, also." Tenya sends a questioning glance at Belinda, then gives an encouraging glance at me before going to wait in the hall with Belinda. _What am I supposed to do? _I wonder to myself. "Hey, um, anybody there? I mean, as if. Like there are really 'ghosts' or 'spirits' like that nutter Belinda says. Please. I only came here to humor her, you know? Let her think that someone actually believes her. I guess that everyone thinking that you're insane could drive someone mad. Madder, actually, as they had been mad in the first place." Silence met my ramblings. Well, what did I expect? I sit there for at least ten minutes, maybe more. Finally, I decide that maybe what I'm supposed to do has something to do with the – what did she call it? – Specter-Tester sitting on the table, puffing its little clouds of gray. Suddenly curious, and partially just wanting out of here, I tentatively raise my hand toward the clouds. Closer, closer, closer...

As soon as I touch one of the puffs, I fall out of my chair screaming.

Once I have regained control of my pain, - which takes what seems like hours -, I blink back tears and lay there, on the floor. Outside the door, I hear a commotion. Probably nothing compared to my screams laced with pain, but still. "Are you insane, Mother? We can't just let her suffer, so as not to 'interfere with the spirits' or whatever!" "Child, you're too young to understand, and have not contacted the spirits before, but this is their will. If we interfere, it will cause catastrophe." "I don't care about the 'sprits will'! Hate to break it to you, Mother, but there is - no – such – thing!" That was Tenya, arguing to come in. Belinda was arguing to let me suffer. With a glance at my hand, I notice that it's bleeding all over the floor, and it stings really badly. My knuckle bones look out of place and broken, and you can see the blood-stained cartilage poking out from the joints. Trying to move my fingers, I realize just how strange it is to know that you're trying to move your fingers – or arm, leg, whatever is affected – and to see nothing happen. Well, you couldn't see anything happening, but as soon as I tried to move my fingers, I felt a searing pain go up my hand and travel up my arm. Staring at my right arm in horror, I notice that the wound is creeping up my hand, wrist, and arm. The red and black color of my burned – at least that's what it looks like, but this doesn't feel like an ordinary burn – skin is slowly spreading towards my shoulder, exposing even more blood, and it's getting worse, because now you can see my bones in some places. Slowly, I watch my wound spread, infecting first the rest of my hand, - as only my fingers had made contact with the smoke -, then my wrist, my forearm, elbow, and upper arm. As soon as it reaches my shoulder, for it had been increasing in speed as it went along, I hear other noises outside the door. Apparently, the arguing and my screams had attracted the attention of a few of the body guards patrolling the train corridors. "Miss, you need to move! There is no such thing as 'sprits' and everyone has tolerated that long enough! In that room is the kid that we were specifically told to keep safe at all costs, wounded! The Prez could – and would – kill us if she died!" Belinda starts to object once again, but there's a thump, and I realize that the body guard has shoved her aside and she landed on the floor. The door knob rattles, and I hear cursing. "That witch locked the door!" Another one of the body guards, one of the females, demands, "Where are the keys, little girl?" And I realize that this is directed at Tenya. "I saw them on the table inside! I didn't know that the door was locked, so I thought that it was fine!" She says hurriedly, though whether to save her own hide or because she's worried about me, I don't know. More cursing. I feel dizzy and light, as the wound, having reached my shoulder, spreads down my back and up my neck. The skin on my growing wound is not completely gone, but a lot of it is, kind of like what would happen after a really bad whipping. The skin that's still there is broken and bruised. "Willow, can you hear me?" A surprisingly soft female voice at the door says. I moan in response, my consciousness slipping, the edges of my vision swimming. "Good. On the table by the bed, next to the machine that is puffing blue smoke, there's a key. Small, silver? Do you see it?" Turning my head in the direction that I think the bed is in seems like a Herculean task, but I somehow manage. Yes, it's blurry, but I think I see a silver glint. I moan in response again. The woman by the door seems to interpret that for the yes it meant. "How far away is it? If it's too far for you to manage, stay silent. If you think that you can do it, then let me know." Do what? My foggy brain thinks. Oh, she wants me to try and get the key. The wound is now spreading farther down my spine and climbing up my chin. It seems to be having more trouble spreading up my neck more than the other infected parts of my body. I stay silent, as right now, even scooting forward an inch seems impossible. "Okay, Willow, we're going to knock the door down. Are you anywhere near the door, or in its path? If so, then stay silent. If not, then let me know." Dragging my eyes away from the wound, which is now down to my hips and at about mouth level, but it also has reached across my back and is creeping its way towards my left shoulder. I moan again, as I don't think that I'm anywhere near the door, but the room seems so much bigger now. "Okay, Willow, we're coming." I hear, barely, as blackness consumes my vision, a thud against the door. Then another. And again. Finally, with a huge crash, the door falls to the ground, the reverberations thudding through my skull and wound, making me cry out in agony, as the pain is unbearable anymore. Then, as the people start rushing in, I lose consciousness completely.

* * *

_**A/N: One thing - when Belinda's talking about the origin of their names, that isn't really how I picked out the names. Actually, I went to and looked at girl names for awhile, and I thought that Willow sounded cool, so I picked it. I got Tenya from a character in the Inheritence cycle. His name was actually Tenga, but I liked Tenya better. Tenga was a brief character, only in one chapter, although he was mentioned once or twice afterwards as being Angela's mentor. She said something like, "I was apprenticed to him for awhile, and we parted on bad terms" or something. The characters themselves have nothing in common, except for the names. Angela intrests me, and I think she's cool, so when I was looking for a name, I thought about the characters from the Inheritence cycle. (I had just finished up a chapter from that book when I started writing this . . .) I eventually thought about Angela, and that lead me to think about Tenga. Which eventually became Tenya. I made up the meaning behind Tenya all by myself, which took awhile, because a.) It's a name that I just pulled out of thin air, basically. I tried looking it up in tons of name-sites, but nothing showed up. and b.) I had trouble thinking up a meaning that fit the character that I wanted Tenya to become. I came up with tons of other meanings, but none of them fit who I needed Tenya to turn into. **_

_**Cheers! **_

_**Cami **_


	6. Chapter Six

_**A/N: So here I am again, five seconds after I posted the last chapter . . . . like I said, I already have all the following written, until chapter nine. This chapter I wrote from Belinda's POV, as I told MelonBlue22 earlier, (see, if you guys actually talk to me, or PM me, or send a review, then not only do I grace you with my wonderful online presence, but I might also give out little forshadows. Sorry, MelonBlue, that it took me so long to upload. It must have been harder for you then the rest of these people, because you knew what was to come!) MelonBlue is also a friend of mine in real life; I might refer to her occasionally as Shiny, or Melani, or Captain Aqua, or Melaine the Barbarian, (that story's actually quite funny; I might tell it to you sometime,) or a dozen of the other nicknames she has. We just love to give her nicknames, don't we? Anyway, on with the story! Oh, yeah, and before I forget again . . . **_

_**I officially disclaim everything in not only this chapter, but the rest of this story that does not belong to me. This includes the world of Panem which Suzanne Collins has created, although the characters I use belong to me, because this is set in a different time period. Any names, references, or places that belong to someone else I disclaim, so if, say, I get sued by someone for using their thing, this disclaimer should hold up. As stated before, this covers the entire story, but only this story, which is currently entitled, "How They Began". I assure everyone that if I knowingly use something that does not belong to me, but is someone else's that I do it legally. If I unknowingly use something that is someone else's, then I apolgize and will not claim it for my own in the future, so long as you contact me somehow to notify me that it is either your's or someone else's. **_

_**Well, that should just about cover it. See how I used that fancy-official-talk? Yeah, my dad says that I should be a lawyer. **_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Belinda's POV

They wanted to try to clean up the blood stains on the carpet and the splatters on the walls, but I told them no. No, because I needed her blood to do some experiments. The Specter-Detector wasn't supposed to draw so much blood; nor was it supposed to give the poor little girl an Eternal Burn. Eternal Burns were nasty things, saved only for the most loathed of enemies. It starts with an extreme hatred for a person, and, if this emotion is let – willingly or unwillingly – out of control, then even the slightest touch of the person, along with the right words and/or intentions, can cause an Eternal Burn. For example, if I – although I would never do this, because I have mastered keeping my emotions in check – if I was emotionally scarred directly or indirectly by... oh, let's say... my husband – but it could be anyone, even a stranger. It doesn't have to be someone you know, but those tend to give the nastiest Eternal Burns – if I was emotionally scarred somehow or another by my husband, Rodney Snow, then I might develop, depending on the scar, the circumstances in which it was inflicted, the depth of the wound, and many other factors, I might develop an extreme hatred for him. Then, if I let my emotions reign free – which I would never do, as said before – if I let my emotions free, then the slightest touch, whether we bumping into each other in the hallway, or I deliberately hit him, then he would be afflicted by an Eternal Burn. An Eternal Burn is a burn that can be, depending on the intensity of the hatred, lethal. You see, it spreads around the body much like Willow's did, burning – without heat, or the feeling of heat – burning back the skin, leaving the few patches left broken and bruised. It exposes the bone, frays the muscle, rips the tendons, and cuts into the veins. In some places, it even breaks the bone, or fractures it. It will spread to the entire body, coating it with exposed bone, blood, and muscle. If it's not stopped. The reason that it's called an Eternal Burn is because it never stops. Sure, you can get the Burn to stop spreading, but even after months in the hospital, it would only have recovered about 2%. After about five years in the hospital, it would have recovered about 20%. One reason that makes spirits so dangerous is that they are capable of inflicting Eternal Burns and much, much worse. That's what happened. Today, after speaking with Willow – at that time, 15-C – while she was being guided to her suite, and after she had fainted, I wandered off to my room. In there, this is what happened:

Closing the door behind me, I scan the room for what I'm looking for. There, on the kitchen table, is my Specter-Detector, puffing its little gray clouds. Pretending not to notice the two spirits lurking in the corner, I gently take the Detector from its table and move it to my desk. "Able," I say, throwing the words over my shoulder while inspecting the Detector, "Would you be a dear and go get a Testing spirit, please?" Able, one of the spirits I was ignoring before, growls. "I have told you before, woman, we do not take orders from you. We are merely acquaintances, thrown together by fate. In actuality, I am the superior here." I sigh. I should have known better than to say that to Able, because he is 0.5% compassion, and 99.5% pride. I reword my sentence. "Right, sorry, Able... but could you please, O Supreme Overlord, Ruler From Afar, go and see if any spirit will answer your mighty request for a Tester spirit? I'm sure that no one would dare deny your request, Should-Be-Emperor of the Universe, otherwise I would do it myself. I, however, think that you would be best to do it, if it doesn't trouble you much too humble yourself and go among normal, common spirits, unworthy of your presence." I know that I'm over doing it, but Able seems not to notice. "Well, if you say so." He says haughtily. Turning to leave, he throws over his shoulder, "By the way, do you really think that none of the ghosts can say no to me?" I don't answer. Able, however, seems to take this for a yes, and disappears in a puff of smoke. Each spirits' smoke has a different color, and that color also dictates the color of the smoke from the various Machines lying around my room. A few seconds later, Able reappears with a spirit in tow. "Belinda, dear loyal subject, here is Roger Snow. He even volunteered!" "Also, Belinda," He added in an under tone, having dropped Roger's arm and drifted across the room to me, "I would appreciate it if you would talk with me. Somewhere will Roger won't hear, of course." I blinked three times rapidly to show my understanding, then, so that Roger could hear, I said, "No, Able, I have told you a million times, we are not going to use you for the spirit in the Specter-Detector!" Able, catching on, replied, faux offended, "But, Belinda! Surely, with my experience and wisdom, I should be the one to test this child's Perception? Honestly!" I threw up my hands in fake exasperation along with Able. "No, Able! I said no and that is where it ends." Able turns on his heel and marches into the kitchen. Taking the hint, I say apologetically to Roger, "So sorry, but I have to go calm him down. The last time I just ignored his anger, my room was mysteriously trashed." Roger nods. "I understand." He said, stiffly. Giving him a small smile, I march into the kitchen after Able, the door swinging shut behind me.

"So, what is your problem, Able?" I questioned. "Well, you said that this Perception-test was for a girl, what was her name..." "The current 15-C." I replied. "Yes, yes, well, once I mentioned that name, Roger jumped at the chance to do this. He might have a grudge against her family, or her, or what she will eventually do, or maybe even what her descendants will eventually do. He seemed...there's only one way to put this... thirsty for revenge. You might want to get another spirit to do this one, Belinda, because we both know that a vengeful Snow is a very bad thing." We were both being very careful to keep our voices low.

Just then, Roger called out, "So, I think that I just heard the little girl scream." Let's pause here for a second, shall we? Spirits are unnaturally perceptive of things, so it was perfectly believable that Roger could hear this. Back to the story, pause over. "Really?" I say curiously, exiting the kitchen. "Yes, I think I heard water, too." Roger says, his tone rather bored, as though he couldn't be bothered to go find out what was going on. His facial emotions, however, looked to me as if he had heard what we were talking about, even though that's impossible. I have various spells on each room, and then on the suite as a whole. Maybe it's time to update them...

"Well, then, we'd better get going." I say briskly, leading Roger over to the Specter-Detector sitting on my desk. Shooing Able out of the room, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Roger just stands there, unaware of what I'm about to do, which is unusual for a Snow, especially a spirit. With a sudden motion, like a snake jabbing its head out for a quick bite, I snatch Roger's arm and shove him into the Specter-Detector's top opening, where the puffs of gray smoke come out. Waiting a few seconds to see if he will stay there, because if not, then I have to find another spirit, I worry about the point Able brought up. Finally, I decide that Roger will do, and I let Able back in. Just as I sit down, Able says suddenly, "They're coming down the hallway. The girl, Tenya, is about to knock." I get up and walk over to the door. Flinging it open before dear little Tenya could knock, I say, "Oh! I'm so glad that you came. The spirits alerted me of your arrival." I see Tenya just as unimpressed as ever by my room, and I see 15-C – now Willow – let a flicker of surprise run across her face. Ah, what I would give to see how that child's life plays out – for she has a most interesting destiny, and even I could not foresee all of it. The spirits cannot, either, and that is most uncommon. Usually, once you give up all ties with this world – in other words, once you die – you have access to all knowledge. You can see the past, present, and future, and nothing is hidden from you. Without reason, of course. So the fact that this child's destiny was hidden from even the spirits was intriguing, to say the least. Various spirits could see various pieces to the puzzle, however, and if fit together, they might reveal Willow's future. But, the spirits refuse to share their limited knowledge of the situation with me, which is most frustrating. Willow eventually comes in, and the three of us settle in for talking. I won't describe most of the conversation; you could always just ask Willow. But when she asked about her name, I was proud. Both of her asking the question, because that was the response I was looking for, but also – okay, call me conceited – but also because of how I picked the name. Instead of explaining my boring response, just ask Tenya or Willow. They'll know.

I could tell, during the entire visit, that Willow was terribly curious about the Specter-Detector. She keeps glancing at it, first the silver machine itself, then following the twisting little tubes, then finally watching the little gray clouds. I finally decided to test her. I explained that Tenya and I would leave the room. I could tell that Willow didn't want to be left in this room all alone, but this was an important test of character. There was no specific right or wrong, no set rules. It tells the onlookers about who you are, what your intentions are, and if you can be trusted. This was important, to say the least.

Tenya looked like she wanted to protest, but I gave her a glance and led her outside. Shutting the door, I waved my hand and a shimmering mist screen appeared, showing the inside of the room, the room where Willow was sitting. I saw the events play out as she could tell you.

As soon as the Eternal Burn began, Tenya immediately wanted to go inside. Yes, I was slightly caught off guard myself, but I knew that we could not interfere. I tried to keep Tenya out as long as possible, and eventually she agreed, shuffling down the hall. I was suspicious that she had agreed; this was unlike Tenya. Very unlike Tenya.

After a while, still riveted to the screen, studying Willow's actions, I began to hear heavy, fast foot-falls. Six guards were charging around the corner, and Tenya was trailing behind. One of them tried to convince me to move out of the way, and when I refused, he backhanded me across the face, and the sudden crack left me just barely aware of my surroundings. I was already frail; didn't they see that? There are more humane was of treating the First Lady! I dimly heard some more crashing against the door, and I bet that Willow was screaming, but my doors are thick. I couldn't hear a thing from inside.

Until the door broke in. From there, I can take over explaining this part of the story.

After half of the guards had run to get a medic, Tenya turned toward me. I had, by this time, regained my senses. "What do you think you were doing back there?" She snarled. I changed the subject, knowing that she wouldn't understand my reasoning. No one does. "I wonder," I mused, "I wonder what has inspired this sudden loyalty for Willow. Is it because she's the victim, in this situation, because she's the underdog? Or is it because you have a natural instinct, an unexplainable urge to protect her? Or is it just – this is the most likely, but the others are still possible – is it because your status doesn't allow you to mix with other children, so you think that Willow, being one of the few children you will ever see, is your friend? Let me break this to you, Tenya: She doesn't like you. She thinks that you're annoying, insolent, useless, spoiled, and she thinks that you are a daughter of a witch. She thinks that I dabble in witchcraft. Get this, Tenya: I do. I am a self-proclaimed, spirit-proclaimed, witch. Sorceress. Magician. Whatever word you prefer, they all mean the same. You think that I'm only capable of somehow making colorful smoke? That all I can do is make pretty poetry, that all I'm good for is creating cute little pictures, fantasies, that I'm delusional? Off my rocker? Insane?" Tenya now backed away from me slowly, eyes wide. The other guards had stopped their quiet conversation and were looking at me out of the corners of their eyes, thinking I was oblivious, lost in my daydreams, stuck in the clouds making predictions and conversing with spirits.

I would show them. All my anger at being misunderstood, thought to be crazy, thought to be a stupid, worthless thing stuck in a permanent daze. I would show them. I would get my revenge for being slighted and mistreated. I would show them.

* * *

_**A/N: So, Belinda starts swearing revenge, hmm? Should make things a bit more interesting. BTW, for anyone who wishes to know weather I actually intend to bring magic or somesuch into this story, or weather Belinda's just a nutter, please continue reading as normally. For anyone who does not wish to know right now, please skip down to the paragraph below the big words that tell you that the "spoiler" is over. **_

_**POSSIBLE SPOILER AS TO BELINDA'S SANITY:**_

_**Okay, so no, I do not intend to breing magic into this story. Aww, I know, but I figured that the Panem had enough going on as it is. I really want to write a magical story, though, maybe Inheritance, now that I've finished that series . . . . So. Belinda's a nutter, more specifically, she's schizophrenic. I've always wanted to write an insane character. **_

_**SPOLIER OVER. EVERYONE CAN READ THE NEXT PART.**_

_**So. Back again, hello! Here the whole time, Hi! In case you missed it, I finished that Inheritence cycle at long last! Hip-hip-hooray! If you plan on reading it anytime soon, skip the next spoiler. I wish to rant and rave about certain things. **_

_**SPOILER AS TO THE INHERITENCE CYCLE: **_

_**Where to start? Arya's a Rider, Eragon leaves to never return, Nasuada becomes High Queen, Murtagh becomes not-evil-ish and ditches that world, Saphira finds her love, Galbatorix dies, along with Shruikan, and the world is saved! But at the same time, Eragon leaves to possibly never return, Murtagh ditches the world, and then it all ends just like that! I mean, would it kill Paolini to write some more? Really?! I am a strange mixture of pissed and satisfied. Satisified because I loved it, pissed because I partially hated it, satisifed because I'm done, pissed because it's over. Ugh!**_

_**SPOILER OVER. EVERYONE CAN RESUME READING. **_

_**Cheers, **_

_**Cami. **_


	7. Chapter Seven

_**A/N: So. I'll try to upload the other already written chapters today, like I tried yesterday, but I had to leave for errands last-minuite-ish. Okay, I have to rant for a second. Here goes: So, you guys know that show, Ancient Aliens? It's on the History channel. My dad is obsessed with it, and when I asked why, he said, "Well, when I was in about sixth grade, I always thought that mankind had been helped along by aliens, but at the time,no one else did. This show is all about that theory." Sometimes, I just wanna tell those "scientists" on the show, "What about the Bible?" Really, if you listen to that show, you can just tell that those people are nutters. Insane. And right now, I'm at my kitchen table, and I can see/hear what goes on in the living room. And my dad is non-stop watching Ancient Aliens. In the living room. He knows that show annoys me. I think that he's just out here watching it because we arguged yesterday, so he's doing this to spite me. And my mom is at work, so she's not here to side with me and tell him to stop. Right now I think that they're disscussing the (non-existant, in my opinon) possibility of aliens sending down the asteriod that killed dinosaurs, and then the dinosaurs surviving and co-existing with humans. These people are insane. But, on with zee story!**_

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**Chapter Seven**

Back in Willow's POV

I heard a faint beeping sound. It grew louder. _Please just go away. Is being left alone too much to ask for? _Apparently, yes. Now, along with the beeping, I heard voices. They sounded strangely familiar. I knew that I'd heard them before, but I wasn't coherent enough to identify them.

"If she dies or is otherwise harmed, I will personally use your hides as rugs and have your heads mounted on the wall. Understood?"

"Y-yes. Yes, sir."

"Let me speak to my wife. Now. Alone. I don't think that she quite understands the importance of this child." Then there was a stumbling sound, and someone said, "Come on." Then a thump, like someone was being forced onto their knees. "Now, now, men, we still must have a little respect. She is, after all, the First Lady. She is, after all, still my wife. Show some nobility, boys! This is beneath you." A few more "Yessirs" and the door closes, the guards having left, apparently. "So." The voice says icily. Another voice says, "Have I ever told you how important this little girl is?" "No." "That's no sir. Well, she could mean, for us, the difference between poverty and wealth. Success or failure. Life. Or. Death!" The voice has risen to a louder tone by the end. "So?" The second voice, also familiar, said icily. "You expect me to care?" "Yes! I expect you to care, about my career, my life, my wealth, my orders! I ordered you not to go near the girl! Do you know how I punish people who disobey me? Do you?!" The voice stopped, and I heard several deep breaths before it returned, noticeably calmer. "I give them a choice. Either a lashing, a hanging, or banishment. Take your pick." "Y-y-you wouldn't really harm an old woman, much less your wife, would you?" The first voice came again, cold. "The only reason you married me," Here it paused. "Was because you wanted protection. You were worried that the people in your area would murder you for witchcraft. Well, fool, let me clue you in, just in case no one else has. There – is – no – such – thing! You're delusional! Insane! Schizophrenic!" Again with the pause to draw deep breaths. "You are a disgrace, both to your family and mine. You are a freak. Vermin. Something that needs to be exterminated. Get out of my presence. Guards!" A pain fully – at least for me – loud bang as the door flew open. Then more dragging. I heard the door swing, but before it shut the first voice said, "The punishment for her disobedience is execution." A slight pause. "Y-y-you sure, sir?" "Of course, fool! I wouldn't have said so if not, now would I?" "Y-yes, sir. What form?" "Something . . . discreet. No one is to know aside from the people in this room. Anyone else who knows will be hung, and anyone who tells someone out of this room will be hung – but tortured, first. It will be a murder – make it look like an assassination by the rebels. All of you in this room will report to my suite at 9:30 tomorrow. State your names; anyone no present or late will be hung, even if it's only by a second. We will discuss the final plan then. Everyone comes, remember. Everyone – except you, scum." I guessed that the final sentence was directed at the woman, based on the way he was ranting on her before. A couple of, "Yessirs" and then a "Get on with it!" And the door closed. I cracked an eye open ever so slightly. The room was empty. I opened my eyes fully and tried to stretch, only to find that A.) I was covered in bandages and B.) As soon as I had even barely moved an inch, a searing pain ripped through the left side of my body. Glancing down, I do a double-take and stare at the wound. It is covered with clean, white bandages, but I am marveling at the size. The bottom of the wound spreads from my left knee, traveling diagonally to my upper-right thigh. On my left side of the wound, it extends from my knee to just below my chin. My right side of the wound is from my upper-thigh to above my chin, about two inches higher than the other side, just below my mouth. The top of the injury is from slightly below my chin to two inches higher.

I bet that it'll leave scars.

The entire area in between is covered, absolutely, with sterile white bandages. Suddenly I remember everything from the night – or, wait, how much time has passed? – before. The first voice, the one with the most authority, must have been the president. The two other voices, the lackeys, must have been the guards. The last voice, the woman, must have been Belinda. What were they mad about? My brain is still slightly foggy. I can think sluggish thoughts, but anything that's not totally obvious was in sight, but covered with fog. After a while, the fog around the answer clears, and I remember that the president, Tenya, and the guards are mad at Belinda because of my injury. Well, I can't blame them. Add me to the list.

A soft tap on the door, a pause, and then a nurse comes in. When she sees me half-awake, she bustles over to my bed, and says in a rapid-fire pace, "Hello. My name is Lilith. I'm you nurse, but actually, I'm the only nurse here. We are in the Capitol, at the Infirmary. You have a very bad wound, and frankly, I'm not quite sure what it is. I think that the witch does, but she won't say, and the President has forbidden her to leave her rooms. Only certain people are allowed in, and you have to have express permission from the President. Please try not to move much, and don't remove the bandages. So long as you follow my instructions, you should be fine." The nurse's tone was not unkind. She handed me a glass of some sort of thick, syrupy liquid that was a deep reddish-purple. I was careful to take it with my right hand, and to keep my left side still. "Drink this. It will help to numb some of the pain, and it will help you sleep. This won't make you go to sleep, though. It just helps you for when you do. I hear that it tastes like strawberries." I hesitate, and she notices. "Trust me, it's perfectly safe. Here," She takes the glass back, and dips a finger into the liquid. Then the nurse, Lilith, licks her finger. "Hmm. It does taste like strawberries." Lilith handed the cup back to me, and I drank it. "W-what is this?" I croaked. "It's called Aspirinian. That's pronounced as – per – in – e – an. The name comes from something that the people before us used to have, Aspirin. This stuff is slightly different, though. While it relieves some pain, like Aspirin did, it also helps you sleep better. Also, while Aspirin was a solid sort of pill, this is a drink. The last difference is that this tastes better. Strawberries, remember?" She said the last part with a wink. I nodded, then stopped. Lilith was partially right; the pain had lessened, but it was still there, and badly.

Lilith says, somewhat sympathetically, "Well, now I have to change the bandages, so, if you will take this drink . . ." She trails off. "What does that one do?" My voice is still small. "Well, this one will help you fall asleep now, so that you won't have to deal with the pain. See, I'm pretty sure that being exposed to the air, and not having any bindings will make it hurt and make it start bleeding again. Here. I would test this one to prove that it's okay, but then I would fall asleep!" She chuckled. "Oh, right." I took the glass and drained the new liquid, which was a pink color, with a thin consistency of water.

I suddenly felt very drowsy. My eyelids were heavy, and falling asleep suddenly sounded so good. I was tired, after all . . . .

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_**A/N: So, who here recognized the Robin Hood references? You know, the BBC show? I'm watching some of it on YouTube; please don't spoil anything, as I'm watching season 3 episode 1 right now. Literally, right now. See, I'm typing while this window is covered up by the YouTube window. So, apoligizing for spelling and grammer errors, people! **_

_**Cheers!**_

_**Cami**_


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